


Speed Dial

by Geonn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e21 Asylum, F/F, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other end of the phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speed Dial

Correction. Duty. Authority. Obey.

Martine wasn’t stupid. If she’d learned nothing else in this godforsaken hellhole, it was that. Martine was cool and calculating. In some ways, she was smarter than Greer. Maybe cleverer, or with more foresight. She could be emotional, and she could make mistakes, but there was no way Martine was going to be stupid enough to accidentally leave a cell phone in Shaw’s cell. Shaw spent a full hour looking at the damn thing just because it was better than looking at the--

Duty. Authority. Obey. Correction.

\--screen. She knew what they wanted her to do. She knew what was expected of her in their twisted little minds. It was a trap, and the phone was bait. All she had to do was pick it up and dial. It was so tempting. Even fully aware that it was a loaded gun aimed right at everyone she cared about, she desperately wanted to make the call. Just to hear their voices again. 

Authority. Obey. Correction. Duty.

They knew she could get free from her bed. She didn’t have the strength to move very far, and the asylum’s security would stop her if she managed to get past Samaritan’s goons. They were giving her a bit of leash. Enough rope to hang herself with. Enough rope to kill everyone on Finch’s little gang. She had to think like chess. Three, four, eight moves ahead. She closed her eyes and tried to think like the Machine. 

Obey. Correction. Duty. Authority.

Don’t call. Greer and Martine get impatient, the torture starts up again, and maybe they get lucky and break her. Maybe they would find some switch in her brain that would get results. There was always that possibility. She was well-trained and she was strong, but she was still human. If she didn’t call, then nothing changed and her chances of survival remained static. Greer would think up a different gambit that would catch Root by surprise, and maybe it would succeed.

Correction. Duty. Authority. Obey.

Call. Root, Reese, and Finch would come running. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to arrive blindly. They would know in a heartbeat it was a trap. So they would be prepared, or they would stay away entirely. No matter what happened, no matter how they reacted to the phone call, there was one thing that would most certainly happen: the team would know she was alive, and they would know the location of Samaritan’s base of operations. 

Duty. Authority. Obey. Correction.

She freed herself from the restraints and swung her feet onto the floor. There was no need to be furtive; she knew they were watching and they’d leave her alone for as long as she needed. This was their plan, after all. She was just the trigger. She grimaced and gripped the edge of the bed when she walked. Weeks of recuperation had healed her gunshot wounds, but she’d spent all that time lying in bed. She dragged her feet across the floor, eyes on the phone and everything it represented, grunting with exertion as she hurled herself forward. She grabbed the phone, sagged against the counter, and closed her eyes so she could catch her breath. 

Authority. Obey. Correction. Duty.

She dialed the area code, then hesitated with her finger on the first digit of Root’s number. She moved it down to Reese’s number, then lifted it off the keypad entirely. She wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d been held captive, but she knew it was certainly weeks. Maybe months. Would Root have given up in that time? She doubted it. But Finch... Reese... Fusco. They’d all lost enough people to know when it was time to be realistic. She knew no matter how much faith they had in her, at a certain point they would move on. They would force Root to move on.

Obey. Correction. Duty. Authority.

And if they did that, then dropping a call on any of them would just be cruel. It might make them act unpredictably. She looked at the phone and dialed her own number. If they’d given up on her then the phone would be tucked away somewhere, turned off, with a dead battery. If she couldn’t get through then she would stop trying.

Correction. Duty. Autho--

“Hello?”

Root. 

Her voice so full of guarded hope and skepticism. Root. One simple word, the first word Shaw had heard her say in God knew how long. Shaw forced her own voice to work. “Root? Are you there? It’s me.” She looked toward the door. She could see shadows moving outside. “I need your help. I think...” 

Finch.

There was a click, and she looked at the phone to see a CONNECTION LOST alert covering the screen. The door opened and one of Samaritan’s muscleheads stormed in. He grabbed the phone from her and clamped his hand over her bicep. He looked at the screen, stuffed the phone in his pocket, and manhandled her over to the bed. She went willingly because she didn’t feel like being drugged or knocked unconscious, and she didn’t want anyone to carry her. 

Reese.

The goon strapped her down again and left the room. Through the glass in the door she could see Martine speaking with the goon. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could surmise well enough. Shaw looked at the screen with its scrolling dictionary, the words meant to condition her to Samaritan’s way of thinking. All they had done was show her the real differences between Samaritan and Finch’s Machine. And that knowledge had only convinced her that she was on the right side. The others--

Fusco.

\--were willing to die for the Machine, to keep Samaritan from winning. She felt the same way, she was just in a much more likely position to make good on that promise. They had tried to condition her and they failed. They had tried to use her as bait to get the rest of the team and, though it seemed as if they might have won, they had no idea what was coming for them. And if she was still in their custody when the dust settled, she had no doubt Martine would finally kill her for outliving her usefulness. 

Root.

Martine was staring at her through the glass, and Shaw met her gaze without blinking.

Root.

Martine smiled.

Root.

Shaw kept her face free from emotions. She knew that just because it was Martine’s plan didn’t mean it was a trap. Her team had faith in her, faith enough to keep her phone charged and close enough for Root to answer on the third ring. She would reward them by having an equal amount of faith that they would come through. The mission wasn’t to save her; the mission was to take down Samaritan. Knowing their base of operations was a big first step to winning the war, and Shaw had just handed that to them.

Root.

Martine turned away, and Shaw finally allowed herself a small grin. 

The words continued to cycle across the screen in front of her, a litany of buzzwords meant to brainwash her. She was aware of the subliminal flashes embedded in the message, the little flashes between each word. She leaned back and stared at the screen. They could barrage her with as much propaganda as they wanted. They could preach their gospel until the End Times. But now she could only see one thing on the screen.

Root. Root. Root.

She was coming. God help Samaritan, because Root was coming, and nothing short of death was going to stop her.


End file.
